INDEX
PART 1 - Below
PART 2 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155213485
Part 3 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155293202
Part 4 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155439799
Part 5 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155529454
Part 6 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155547997
Part 7 - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155646207
INDEXcontinued - https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/155646248
So, heya once again😆 Since I completed my binge watching today only, my mind was abuzz with their scenes and as wild my imagination is, it could only be tamed by writing. And I was planning to write something else😆, but somehow one after another emotions found me and the scene you all will read came to be. And I actually have a few scenarios in mind to extend this story, but no promises🥱.
Anyway, I don't know how you'll like this part but do share your views if you find it to your liking. Here we go!!
Part 1 - Afsana
With every string he unwrapped, Virendra became more and more conflicted. He was seated on the sofa, in front of Sakshi’s portrait but his thoughts were somewhere else. He had started with going over some mill related documents, but his gaze continued to drift towards the far off corner of the room, where a canvas stood behind a blue veil. Over and over he ignored the pull but when his concentration completely betrayed him, he slammed the file shut and getting up, walked towards that canvas. He stared at the blue veil thoroughly and closed his eyes in exasperation, opening them only a moment later appalled, for he had seen a vision, a face precisely that had been haunting him for days now.
Virendra turned his face away, his face twisted with disgust and yet he failed to take a step away. Art had been his calling since childhood, but with his muse long gone, he could no longer bring to life his paintings. That had been his understanding but that was not the case, for a few weeks ago, he had painted a portrait so alive, that it was hard to tell apart from the real one. That being said, his fingers twitched as his eyes fell on the paintbrush and he could hold it in no longer. Picking up the portrait with the veil, he placed it on the easel and caught the blue veil, hesitated a second and then pulled it off with a jerk.
As the blue cloth pooled at his feet, he found himself eye to eye with that sharp unyielding gaze, an expression he had grown accustomed to since the last few months. So vivid were those features, that he was forced to steal his gaze away, for it felt like a betrayal to his muse.
What in the god’s name had possessed him in that moment that he had done such a big blunder? In an effort to recollect the fading memories,he closed his eyes and found himself in the same settings, in a different time,with a different person.
He had stared the canvas for an hour, and he was yet to draw a stroke. The woman beside him, continued to move her eyes b/w him and the empty canvas. He had wanted to make a comment in that moment but resisted for he didn’t want his already awry concentration to fly away. He had recalled memory after memory, and yet didn’t know where to start. It was when he was lost in his soliloquy, did a touch startle him out of his trance. With a snap,he turned his head in the appropriate direction and found his gaze locked with her troubled ones. He stared-glared her while she lowered her gaze as she lightly patted his cheek for sweat. As the touch retreated, his eyes found hers yet again but only for a second, for she was swift to turn away. As always her reasons reached his ears in a strangled mumble and as always the ending words were the same-Krur singh.
Virendra turned to face the portrait and dipping the brush in black, did a sharp stroke above her eyes, and then followed it with another stray stroke of black, tracing her forehead and falling in front of her eyes. Taking a step back, he gave a once over at the portrait, and the corners of his lips twitched up but something felt amiss. Shaking his head, he resumed his position, mulled a beat and finally gave a few symmetrical strokes in the lower right corner of her portrait.
Finally content, his eyes shone and he just shook his head,“Bawri!”
It was his phone coming to life that made him realize what he had done. Once again. Like some possessed man. As suffocation set in, he hurriedly pulled the veil over the painting and set out, as if a ghost on his tail.
So, how was it? I don't usually write a one person play but somehow this felt just right😛
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